


A Heart Full of Ghosts

by junko



Series: Chasing Demons [25]
Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of his argument with Renji, Byakuya recieves insight from some surprising sources.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Heart Full of Ghosts

Byakuya glared at the steamy water, counting his breath, until the door slid closed. He could sense Renji struggling to his feet on the other side of the wall. Renji seemed to hang there for a moment, as though leaning on the shoji screen, gathering his strength, until, finally, he made his way back through the gardens toward the Division.

Impudent cur.

Byakuya flung the tea bowl at the wall, shattering it. How dare Renji presume to comment on Byakuya’s relationship with Hisana? Who did he think he was?

 _He thinks he’s your lover._ Like lyrics to a haunting song, the words drifted into Byakuya’s mind, _He dares to imagine that when you told him you loved him, you meant it._

Senbonzakura? 

Byakuya eyes snapped toward the changing room, where he had placed the zanpakutō in a holder made especially for it. Though Senbonzakura’s thousand voices always harmonized in the back of Byakuya’s consciousness, it was rare that the zanpakutō chose to use words to comment on anything so directly. 

At least, it had not done so in a long, long time.

And never, ever about a lover.

Byakuya stepped out of the bath. Careful of the ceramic shards and his bare feet, he made his way to the changing room. Taking a towel from the pile, he dried his hair. He glanced at the dark blue-threaded hilt. Senbonzakura had been spending a lot of time beside Zabimaru. Had they formed an attachment that Byakuya was unaware of? Byakuya dressed. When he was finished, he lifted Senbonzakura from the rack. “You have some further opinion you wish to share?”

The song shifted between a gidayubushi from Hisana’s favorite kabuki play and the strange, modern waltz he and Renji had danced to in the club. _Like a dance, some steps are forward, some back. Which shall you choose, my master?_

“You’ve been talking too much to that simpleton,” Byakuya snapped, sliding Senbonzakura into place at his hip. “You lower yourself to think in absolutes like an animal.”

Suddenly, the music stopped. The only sound was the dull thudding of Byakuya’s own heart. Fear seized him. What was this? Had Zabimaru’s willfulness affected Senbonzakura so completely that they would refuse to communicate?

It was several harrowing breaths before a solitary voice like the rustle of wind through leaves said, _Think what you will of their wielder; Zabimaru is no animal._

Ah. So, it was true. “I had no idea you held Renji’s zanpakutō in such high regard.”

 _I don’t_ , Senbonzakura replied with what amounted to a mental huff of derision. _However, it is unwise to mistake a demon for a mindless beast-- in battle or in love. Regardless, it’s not the influence of Zabimaru that should concern you but that of Zangetsu. For we have been broken by the strength of one who cherishes the bonds of friendship above all else._

“I see,” Byakuya said, arranging the kenseikan in his hair. He’d done it so many times that he no longer needed a mirror to guide his hands. “And which do you imagine the truer friend? My wife or my lover?”

 _Only one yet lives, my master_. The voices rasped through Byakuya like a shiver up his spine as they whispered, _Too many ghosts already fill our heart._

A waltz, sad and slow, began to play.

#

Renji must have said something to the staff because Eishirō approached very cautiously when Byakuya rang for him. “I will be making a day trip to the family grave,” Byakuya informed the steward. “Alone.”

“My lord?”

“Prepare some picnic things and a few offerings. I plan to spend the afternoon there.”

#

The sky was the blue of early autumn, clear and crisp. Byakuya’s passage through the tall grass startled a group of barred buttonquails, which scurried along the track in search of cover. Byakuya stopped at the entrance of the Kuchiki grave site to pick up a small bucket and fill it with water from a small well. A lizard, sunning itself on the stone wall beside the wall, watched Byakuya’s progress warily. 

Once in front of the grave, a tall ominous block of granite, he knelt and went through the far too familiar motions of clearing away the debris of previous offerings and washing the stone. 

So many names.

Byakuya fingers traced the long black ink line of kanji that included the first Kuchiki patriarch and all the clan heads and their families that had followed in the slow march towards death. As his fingers slid through time and bloodlines, Byakuya lingered on his father’s name… his mother’s… Hisana’s….

The only name that remained in red ink was his own.

Aunt Masama’s name had already been added to the grave of her late husband’s family. Rukia’s wouldn’t be added until all other options for another heir had been exhausted, nor would it at all if she, too, married away. Thus, when Byakuya’s name finally blackened, there would be the end. The mighty True First clan would fall and fade to no more than dust and legends.

Would it be such a terrible loss?

For what was the Kuchiki legacy but merciless warriors? A proud name, certainly, but how disheartening was it that they were known for nothing beyond a swift, unhesitating strike and utter ruthlessness on the battlefield?

Where were the Kuchiki schools? Temples? …Theatres?

Byakuya shook his head, and admonished himself for entertaining such an uncharitable thought. Fate had not seen fit to have him born into a family of artists, philosophers or actors, after all. At least he, unlike his father, fit perfectly well into the mold destiny had cast for him.

He turned his attention to setting out the offerings. For his mother there was a many-flowered rose, a pot of the finest ink for his father’s gentle poetic soul, and lavender spikes for Hisana. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” he told Hisana, as he set the lavender down. “The plum trees are all bearing fruit now, not flowers. These, at least, remind me of the color of your eyes.”

Settling back on his knees, Byakuya knew he should pray. It had been so long that he’d forgotten all the words. So, instead, he sat in silence. The silence was hardly absolute, however. The wind rustled the tall grasses, the birds and insects all chattered in the warm afternoon sun, and Senbonzakura sang a sad, mourning song.

“Do you think,” Byakuya asked Senbonzakura after the song had shifted, “Renji is right? Am I somehow to blame for Hana’s current situation? Did I take something from Hisana when I brought her away from her life in the Rukongai?”

Instead of a direct answer, Senbonzakura recalled a song Hisana would sometimes perform for Byakuya when he was a patron of hers at the tea house. 

The tea house had been a phenomenally exclusive place. As far as Byakuya knew, Hisana never took custom off the street because the place she worked was invitation-only. To purchase the briefest time there was exceedingly expensive, much more than even well-ranked shinigami could easily afford. No brutish behavior was tolerated by any of the gentlemen who frequented the place, either. She’d worn silk and jewels and had bodyguards like a princess.

In fact, for all that the tea house was in the first Southern District, there could hardly have been a finer, more luxurious place outside the walls of the Seireitei. The trim was deep cherry wood and richly detailed byobu had been painted by the most skilled masters. When he was there with Hisana it had been easy to forget, in fact, that they were in the Rukongai at all, unless Byakuya stayed long enough to wish for a meal. All food had to be brought in; nothing beyond tea was prepared on the premises.

Even so, it would be easy for Byakuya to imagine that her life there had held no hardships.

Of course, had there been any, she’d never breathed a word of them. She had remained a perfect courtesan even after leaving that place and becoming his wife. No complaints ever left her lips, nor arguments, nor anything but perfect subservience. 

In fact, no lord could have hoped for a better wife. Despite her low birth, Hisana knew the expected behavior for every occasion. Never once had he needed to correct or instruct her. Her manners were exquisite; her language refined. She even accepted his family’s snide remarks and casual cruelty with tact--proud enough never to bow her head to them, but graceful enough to never show even a hint of disrespect or anger in return. She was like a shining, flawless jewel, and it made his family that much more incensed that they could never catch her out for a lack of blood or breeding. It was, in fact, impossible to see Hisana as anything other than a lady. His lady.

Nothing at all like Renji, who had not, in all this time and Academy-training, ever shook the accent or the rough manners of that wretched place. He stank of Inuzuri like a wet dog.

And yet….

Because she refused to upset him, there was so much about Hisana’s life Byakuya never knew. How had she come to be indentured as an oiran? He’d never asked, and, at any rate, if it were at all the kind of story that would have provoked him to anger or revenge, she would have lied. 

Were there other men who mistreated her? He never saw any evidence of it, nor even saw a trace of another man. She was skillful enough, in fact, that she never allowed him to consider that she entertained anyone but himself.

How much of their relationship had been artifice? A thin layer of paint that kept up the illusion that all was well?

It was a disturbing, unnerving thought.

“Damn you, Renji Abarai. You make me question the most decent, happiest moments of my life.”

Senbonzakura’s song shifted to a medley of kabuki favorites which instantly brought to mind nights spent on the town with Hisana on his arm. The music reminded Byakuya of one particular night when she somehow coaxed him to dance with her on the public streets, under the festival lights, as a street band played. She could always provoke such spontaneous foolishness from him. If that was a courtesan’s game, it was extraordinarily well played, and was real enough to satisfy him. 

And, as she lay dying, she told him she’d been happy with their life together. He had to believe her. After all, it had been true for him.

If he’d taken some strength from Hisana, as Renji suggested, Byakuya had no idea what could have been. She never seemed to lack for any, and what she had left, she gave to him. Her spirit has always buoyed his, lifted him up. 

Perhaps… perhaps it was true that the balance sheet was not even between them, but Byakuya had tried to make up the difference by finding Rukia and keeping his promises to Hisana for all these years and despite the tremendous cost.

Byakuya reached out to let his fingers trace Hisana’s name again, remembering the fight he’d gone through with his family before they would even carve her name there, beside his.

“It was never easy for us, my love,” he said. “For that, I am sorry. But I never regretted a moment of our time together. Nor will I now, despite that infuriating man who seems to always find a way to get under my skin.” Byakuya let out his breath in a sigh. “I’d meant to come here and tell you about him, but now you’ve seen him. You didn’t seem terribly impressed. Some days, neither am I. He’s exceedingly rude and willful and… honest, I suppose. Perhaps that’s why I trust him with things I could never tell you.”

He could have asked for anything in the bedroom—even another lover—and Hisana would have accepted it without protest. Which was why he’d refused to take advantage of her, it would have been dishonorable, knowing that she’d have obeyed his every whim. Even if she hated every single moment of it, Hisana would never have said a word beyond, ‘Yes, my lord.’

At least he could count on Renji to express his opinion fearlessly.

Even when it was annoying and wrong-headed.

Even… even when Byakuya forcibly reminded Renji of the power difference between them. Yes, if there was one thing Renji could be count on for, it was disobedience.

The sun had started to sink into the trees. It was time to return to the estate.

#

Byakuya made it only a little way down the road when a startled flock of wrens exploded into the air as someone made their way through the tall grasses. His hand straying to Senbonzakura, Byakuya turned to investigate. He was surprised to see captains Ukitake and Kyōraku walking some distance away on and adjoining path that was hardly wider than the two of them side-by-side. The sunlight glinted on the garish pink of Kyōraku’s kimono and shone like silver threads in Ukitake’s long white hair. 

Neither captain had spotted Byakuya yet. It was clear they had eyes only for each other, as they walked hand-in-hand, heads dipped toward each other in some conversation that elicited a deep belly laugh from Kyōraku. They stopped as Kyōraku pulled his straw hat from his head and swept Ukitake up into a long, intimate kiss. 

It was a surprisingly beautiful moment that took Byakuya’s breath away. Not only was there a visual of a ying-yang of dark curls and pale skin, but Byakuya had never seen them—nor really any grown men--together this way before, so spontaneous and free and… passionate. 

After far too long a moment, Byakuya thought to look away and afford them their privacy.

Perhaps his turn was too sharp or that he’d pulled back his reistsu too quickly because they seemed notice him then. “Ah, Mr. Byakuya!” boomed Kyōraku pleasantly, with a wave. Then he suddenly looked stricken and looked at Ukitake, “Goodness, have we strayed into the Kuchiki estate by accident again, Jūshirō?”

Again? Byakuya raised a curious eyebrow. And by accident? Surely the presence of gated walls would have deterred them previously? However, Ukitake seemed to be frantically looking for landmarks, so Byakuya reassured the captains quickly, “You haven’t. The main entrance is miles yet.”

“Indeed. Still. We’ve come much further than we intended,” Kyōruku muttered, but then brightened, “This is what happens when I’m distracted by such beautiful scenery!”

It was clear to everyone present that Kyōraku meant Ukitake and not the autumn’s day. Ukitake seemed, in fact, to blush a little. They were like schoolboys, Byakuya mused, so easily flattered by and deeply enamored of each other. It was hard to believe they were as old as the trees and had been together longer than Byakuya had been alive.

They reached Byakuya and the road; Kyōraku offered a hand to help Ukitake up the small incline from the path. 

“Ah, Byakuya! It’s good to see you well enough to be out, but what brings you this far on your own?” Ukitake asked with a bright, curious smile, and then noticing the basket Byakuya carried added, “A picnic? Are you… alone?”

Ukitake sounded almost devastated, like he could hardly imagine a worse thing. It made Byakuya embarrassed to have explain his even grimmer mission, “My family’s grave is just down the road.” 

“Oh, I see,” Ukitake said sadly. 

“We’ve intruded after all,” Kyōraku agreed, putting his hat on his head again as though to hide his face in its shadow.

“No, it’s I who’ve cast a pall on the enjoyment of your day together,” Byakuya said with a little apologetic bow. “Forgive me. I’ll be on my way.”

Ukitake touched Byakuya’s arm as he turned to go, stopping him. “Are you sure you’re quite all right?”

If it were anyone else Byakuya would have pulled his arm away sharply and told them to mind their own business, but Ukitake had been his first and only captain before he’d inherited the Sixth from his grandfather. “There was an incident in the Human World,” Byakuya explained flatly. “I encountered the reincarnated soul of my wife.”

“My, my, I’m fairly certain that’s the last thing Mr. Renji wanted for his birthday,” Kyōraku said almost so softly that Byakuya didn’t catch it. 

Before Byakuya could react, however, Ukitake’s grip tightened on his arm. “Oh, my dear boy! You must tell us all about it.”

#

Somehow, and over his protests that he should really be returning to the estate, the captains convinced Byakuya to join them in a drink on a nearby grassy slope. It was close to where they’d met him on the road, but around a bend, out of sight. As he settled on the bent and well-trodden grass, Byakuya wondered if, despite Kyōraku’s bluster, this had been their destination all along--a rendezvous spot under the shade of a large maple tree.

Regardless, it was clearly a popular spot for other lovers, if the scarred carvings in the tree were to be believed. 

Ukitake sat informally in the grass, his long legs crossed tailor-fashion. Kyōraku sprawled out as though grateful for the opportunity for a nap. He leaned his head against Ukitake’s knee and put the straw traveling hat over his face and his hands curled on his broad, hairy chest. He seemed to fall asleep, though the instant the bottle of sake came out of Ukitake’s satchel his hand came out to accept a bowl. 

Ukitake offered a second bowl to Byakuya. The moment Byakuya took it, he found himself captured once again as Ukitake held his gaze and his fingers tightly as he asked, “How are you?”

Traumatized.

Angry.

Grief-stricken.

“Fine,” Byakuya said tersely. But it was clear he wouldn’t be allowed his hands back until he added, “It was, however, quite difficult to leave her to the whims of cruel fate.”

“But you did,” Ukitake sounded relieved as he let go, but then he seemed to realize who he was talking to as he added, “Of course, you did. How terrible for you. What happened? Was she really that poorly?”

Byakuya took a sip of the sake and steeled himself to give an emotionless report of what had transpired. He kept his eyes on the bowl of sake and his voice even as he said, “When we came upon her she was fleeing an assailant and was near-enough to death that she could see Renji in spirit form clearly. She briefly remembered me and our previous relationship, but, after treatment at a nearby clinic, that… ability seemed to fade.” 

No doubt, by the time they were in the restaurant, Hana thought him insane for explaining his broken promises to Hisana and professing his love for Renji to her. Hopefully, she would at least remember enough of the incident to take advantage of Urahara’s credit card. Byakuya mentioned none of this to Ukitake, however. Only politeness owed even this much. What he did as a captain on his free time was no concern at all to anyone but himself. 

“That’s it?” Ukitake seemed surprised at such a simple tale. “You took her for treatment and left her? What of the attacker? Were you forced to dispose of him or her?”

“No, he was arrested by human authorities,” Byakuya explained. 

“So your interference was really quite minimal,” Ukitake noted.

“Yes.” If you didn’t count getting Urahara, Yoruichi, and Kurosaki/Shiba involved in all of it, and, of course, the money left behind, which could, ultimately, count as massive and undue influence depending on how often or how much she tapped into it. 

“I suppose that went as well as could be expected then,” Ukitake said.

Instead of answering, Byakuya took another sip of sake. 

“What I want to know is if Mr. Renji got you out dancing before this disaster or if the whole evening got scraped,” Kyōraku asked, lifting his hat to peer curiously at Byakuya. “Otherwise, I think you might owe him an extra birthday treat.”

“Shunshui!” Ukitake admonished with a light rap of his knuckles on Kyōraku’s woven hat. “The young man is far more concerned at the moment about his wife than his lover!”

“Exactly my point,” Kyōraku insisted, sitting up on his elbow and tilting his hat back. “If I were Mr. Renji in this situation, I’d need a lot of cuddling for reassurance. Nothing like an ex showing up unexpectedly to make a man feel vulnerable and out of sorts, eh? Shirō, surely you remember the time—“

“Renji has made his opinions quite clear on the matter,” Byakuya snapped. It came out unthinkingly, and partly in response to the fact that these two seemed to know far too many details of his relationship with Renji and it infuriated Byakuya beyond measure.

“Oh.” Ukitake and Kyōraku said almost in unison. They exchanged a concerned look. 

It was time to go. The conversation had clearly strayed into dangerous territory. This time it was Kyōraku and his deceptively fast reflexes that caught Byakuya before he could stand. 

“You two have had a fight, eh? Now this part of the story needs a liberal application of sake,” he said jovially, a hand on Byakuya’s thigh, effectively holding him in place. “Come, tell us all about it.”

“No. This conversation is over,” Byakuya said, shaking off Kyōraku to stand. “It should never have begun. I appreciate your concerns, captains, but my private business is my own.”

“Ah, but Mr. Byakuya--” Kyōraku began, but Ukitake cut him off. “Let him go, Shushui. Byakuya is not the sort who easily suffers the advice of foolish old men. His pride must make its own way.”

Kyōraku nodded sadly and gave Byakuya an almost pitying look.

Leave it to Ukitake-sempai to find a way to call him out in such a way that Byakuya could only nod stiffly and make his leave without further comment beyond, “Gentlemen.”

 _Though_ , Byakuya thought as he made his way back to the estate, _Kyōraku might be on to something, a good deal of sake seemed like a wonderful idea._


End file.
